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Theydeserveit >> Thanks Giving Day >> Thanksgiving Poems
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Thanksgiving Poems

Poetry is the best way to let out ones true feelings and deeper emotions. Thanksgiving Poems, is just one way to establish that fine emotional connect associated with the great event. America's past is pronounced by commemorating its legendary and epoch making event that culminated into Thanksgiving Day, and the poems on this fun filled day reassert that great feeling , which can be relived through these beautiful verses.

Here we present you some great poems, that share with us the true spirit and essence of the Thanksgiving. You can learn them by heart and recite them on your Thanksgiving dinner, which will definitely set up the mood for the festival.

After Apple-Picking (1914)- Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well

Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing dear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much

Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

Albuquerque Turkey- Anonymous

(Sung to the tune of 'Clementine')
Albuquerque he's my turkey
Oh he's feathered and he's fine
He wobbles and he gobbles
And I'm awfully glad he's mine.
He's the best pet
You could ever get.

Better than a dog or cat.
Albuquerque he's my turkey
And I'm awfully glad of that.
Albuquerque he's my turkey
He's so cozy in his bed
Because for Thanksgiving dinner
We had scrambled eggs instead.

Happy Eating- Anonymous

'Twas the night of Thanksgiving,
But I just couldn't sleep...
I tried counting backwards,
I tried counting sheep.
The leftovers beckoned...the dark meat and white,
But I fought the temptation with all of my might.
Tossing and turning with anticipation,
The thought of a snack became infatuation.
So, I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door
And gazed at the fridge, full of goodies galore.
I gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes,
Stuffing with gravy, green beans and tomatoes.
I felt myself swelling so plump and so round,
Till all of a sudden, I rose off the ground.
I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky
With a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie
But, I managed to yell as I soared past the trees...
Happy eating to all -- pass the cranberries, please.

Ballad of the Mayflower- Linda G. Paulsen

There was a ship, Mayflower by name; Hey, Ho -
Took a trip, she crossed the main; Hey, Ho -
Full of people seeking peace,
Praying for freedom to increase;
Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!

The Pilgrims came to Plymouth Rock; Hey, Ho -
Simple people, sturdy stock; Hey, Ho -
To be free they crossed the sea,
Thanked the Lord on bended knee; Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!

How when the crops were gathered in; Hey, Ho -
A dinner party did begin; Hey, Ho -
Pilgrims, Indians, pumpkin pie, Turkey, venison, corn, oh my!
Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!

Bet you thought my song was done; Hey, Ho -
But I've really just begun; Hey, Ho -
Ever since that autumn day,
Thanksgiving has been here to stay, Hey, Ho, Dee-o, Dee-o!

The Autumn hills are golden at the top...- Kate Seymour Maclean

The Autumn hills are golden at the top,
And rounded as a poet’s silver rhyme;
The mellow days are ruby ripe, that drop
One after one into the lap of time.

Dead leaves are reddening in the woodland copse,
And forest boughs a fading glory wear;
No breath of wind stirs in their hazy tops,
Silence and peace are brooding everywhere.

The long day of the year is almost done,
And nature in the sunset musing stands,
Gray-robed, and violet-hooded like a nun,
Looking abroad o’er yellow harvest lands:

O’er tents of orchard boughs, and purple vines
With scarlet flecked, flung like broad banners out
Along the field paths where slow-pacing lines
Of meek-eyed kine obey the herdboy’s shout;

Where the tired ploughman his dun oxen turns,
Unyoked, afield, mid dewy grass to stray,
While over all the village church spire burns -
A shaft of flame in the last beams of day.

Empty and folded are her busy hands;
Her corn and wine and oil are safely stored,
As in the twilight of the year she stands,
And with her gladness seems to thank the Lord.

Thus let us rest awhile from toil and care,
In the sweet sabbath of this autumn calm,
And lift our hearts to heaven in grateful prayer,
And sing with nature our thanksgiving psalm.



Last Updated On : October 12, 2011

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